


It Will Always Be You

by codewordpumpkin



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codewordpumpkin/pseuds/codewordpumpkin
Summary: Elizabeth gets taken, so what does Red do?"I'm gonna get her back."Obviously.





	1. Late Night Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> This story will not follow the show's timeline. There will be a lot of borrowed lines and characters from canon, but they will be used in different situations... You'll see what I mean when you read it ;)
> 
> Also, this is simply multi-chapter for the sake of demolishing writer's block and inspiring quicker updates--not because I plan on making this a super long fic. The chapters will probably be short, so just think of them as parts of a long one-shot.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what had woken her.

At that moment, all she knew was that she had dreamed of him—_again_.

It seemed the more she tried to avoid him during the day, the more he visited her subconscious at night, trespassing in the darkest corners of her mind and making it his home. _God_, even in her dreams, the man was infuriating—and not in the way she would have preferred.

She wished she could say it were nightmares that haunted her, that her sleep was disturbed by a fear of being hurt or killed. It would have been so much easier to rationalize if the scenes that plagued her were filled with blood and terror, pain and death. Instead, there were low voices and throaty whispers, notes of seduction manipulating the melody of their hearts; fingers would stroke, limbs would interlock, lips would brush and tremble.

She didn’t thrash in bed every night with anguished screams; she writhed in ripples and waves, mouth falling open in the shape of pleasure. And it wasn’t because she was fighting him, running from him; it was because she wanted to be caught, wanted to surrender. And each time she woke up in her still-dark room, tangled in messy, damp sheets, it would be to his name being voiced in her own desperate whisper: _Red._

_Red, Red, Red._

But today, right now, there was only eerie silence.

That was how she knew… something was very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely short, I know! Consider it a teasing intro :)


	2. Sour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night? Hopefully I don't lose this momentum. *knocks on wood*

Raymond had been in a relatively good mood.

Despite the strained relationship with his favorite profiler, they had briefly spoken yesterday—as in, he had texted her after numerous rejected calls, and she had answered with a _fine_—to arrange a meeting. He would have asked her to join him for lunch, but he knew that would have been pushing it. So, he had made due with a shared bench by the park.

In truth, where they met didn’t matter. The fact that he would be able to see her at all, to talk to her at all, was a win for him—because it meant he would have a chance to make things right again. 

Although the shade of his fedora and the tint of his sunglasses served their purpose sufficiently enough, he was out in the open and exposed beneath the glaring rays of the sun. He was getting a little too hot for comfort, sweat starting to gather in the collar of his shirt, but unlike the rest of his steadily heating body, his hands were nearly ice-cold to the touch. 

“Agent Keen is late,” he grumbled.

Yet another glance at his watch confirmed that it was already fifteen minutes past the promised time. Regardless of her animosity towards him, she usually made an effort to be punctual; he would have worried, but then he thought… perhaps her body had finally crashed and she was just sleeping in.

The shadows beneath her eyes had grown darker with each day, and the sight never failed to remind him that she was living—and he used that term extremely loosely—in a cramped, depressing motor lodge that crushed the spirit and smothered the soul. Unfortunately, it also reminded him that she had stubbornly refused to accept the apartment he had bought for her at The Audrey.

“It is for you.”

He couldn’t help but perk up when he was handed their phone of the week. “Elizabeth?”

Dembe shook his head in the negative. “Agent Ressler.”

“Ah, Donald,” he chirped into the phone, his jovial tone in contrast with the frown that had marred his features a mere second ago. “Care for a slushie? It’ll do wonders in cooling that hot head of yours.”

He glared at the melted drinks with something akin to resentment. They sat beside him, untouched, as he had wanted to gift the sugary goodness to Lizzie and experience the cold rush together. He had even prepared a little dig to say to her:

_Try a grapefruit gusher. It's_ _just like you today—a little sour._

He presumed she would continue with the hostility for the many hot days ahead, so he would have plenty of opportunities to introduce the sweet treat some other time. That was something, at least.

“Keen’s gone.”

There went his mood.

He barely refrained from snapping his teeth and growling, “What do you mean, she’s _gone_?”

“She was a no-show at the Post Office today, and when she wouldn’t answer our calls, Cooper sent us to check on her. It appears she was taken from her motel.” There was a hesitant pause—one that was more than long enough for Red to empty a gun. “There were signs of a struggle.”

His heart pounding, he was already up and moving when he warned, “Agent Ressler, I swear, if this is another one of your tricks to lure me into a box for my self-proclaimed enemies to shoot at—

“It’s not.”

He would have preferred it was.


	3. Until Then

She didn’t have to open her eyes to know she wasn’t in her own bed.

For one, the mattress was too nice—firm but plush, it molded to her figure like foam. It explained why she felt as if she’d had a long, restful sleep, as her body was relaxed in a way that the current situation far from warranted.

Speaking of _current situation_…

Squinting, she acquainted herself with the light in slow, gradual increments. Then, mindful of the physical altercation she had very recently gone through, she carefully sat up and looked around, not surprised in the least to see that the room was as opulent as the bed.

The space was large and airy, with the walls painted in a rich teal, and the floor covered in thick carpet. A crystal chandelier dangled from the high ceiling and illuminated the room with a bright glow. There was even a wooden vanity that held an assortment of products, a tall, matching wardrobe, and what she suspected was an en-suite bathroom—just as swanky as everything else, no doubt. And if she didn’t know any better, she might have thought this was a top suite in some fancy hotel.

Albeit, one she couldn’t simply check out of.

Closing her eyes shut again, she winced as the pounding headache became impossible to ignore. She felt dreadfully hungover—minus the stench of alcohol and her head down the toilet. Her mouth was as dry as cotton, the ache in her muscles was making itself known, and she still didn’t know where exactly she was or why the hell she was taken.

She would have scoffed if she didn’t think it would hurt.

Because _taken _was putting it nicely.

Attempting to stay calm, she thought back to where it had all gone wrong:

The motel. Her dream. The silence.

As soon as she'd sensed the danger, she had reached for the gun she kept hidden under her pillow—only, she had forgotten how… active she tended to be when Red found her in her sleep. Sometime during the night, she had migrated over to the other side of the bed.

Which had resulted in her searching the wrong pillow.

Those few seconds of miscalculation were more than enough for the intruders to pounce. And although she had tried to fight back, doing her best to kick and scream and wriggle out of their hold… Even as a trained FBI agent, there was just no way for her to overpower three large, violent, _armed _men. Before she could even register the pain of her injuries sustained during the struggle, one of the brutes had drugged her unconscious.

She couldn’t even tell how much time had passed since then. Was the task force aware? Was Red—_Red. _She was supposed to meet him today. He would know something was wrong when she failed to show up, and there was no way he wouldn’t do anything and everything he possibly could to find her.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

She just had to stay alive until then.


	4. Fury

She had fought.

It was clear to see through the bashed lamp, knocked over chair, the bits of glass on the ground and the aggressively pummeled wall… Elizabeth had not gone quietly. Her few possessions had fallen from the little side-table, and the screen of her phone was cracked and splintered, the delicate fractures forming an insidious spiderweb.

Staring at the wayward sheets and pillows, he wondered if she had been accosted while still asleep. His cheek twitched at the sight of blood, and the fact that it was not a fatal amount did little to soothe the fire burning inside him. If anyone got too close right now, he would not be held responsible for the scathing damage he was sure to inflict.

As soon as the front door clicked open, both he and Dembe had guns aimed and ready.

“Jesus—it’s just me.” Donald was lucky it was Red’s jaw that clenched and not his heavy fist—the latter of which only lowered once the scowling agent was made firmly aware of that fact. “You have to leave.” Trying not to wither beneath the intimidating glare, he elaborated, “CSI’s gonna arrive soon. You need to be gone by then.”

“The security cameras?” he questioned, his tone deceivingly neutral.

Ressler shook his head, angrily gritting, “Don’t even fucking work. They’re just for show.”

Red had known better than to expect much from this shithole of a motel, but with _Elizabeth_ on the line… he had dared to hope. Mentally chastising himself for having allowed the moment of weakness, he focused on the other side of the coin; usually, it was the familiar face of inevitable disappointment, but in this case, he was greeted by pure, unfiltered fury.

All too aware that he was wasting valuable time, he turned to leave, but something in his peripheral stopped him from moving. It had been so fleeting, he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. The tingle in his spine, however, told him otherwise.

Guided by instinct alone, he cautiously approached the general area that had, for whatever reason, caught his attention. For a few moments, he just stood there. He scrutinized every stain on the floor, each chip in the wall…

There—that glint.

“What is it? What did you find?”

Ignoring Ressler, his narrowed eyes zeroed in on the pin-sized hole.

… A fucking camera.

Raymond didn’t need to be omniscient to know that someone was going to die today.


	5. Wanted

“_Ah, good. You__’re awake.”_

Elizabeth didn’t know what surprised her more:

The sound of a voice—

Or _the sound _of _the_ voice.

She thought an apt way to describe it was by comparing it to a cheese grater: a sheet of steel riddled with holes. It was humanly raspy, yet genetically robotic. Everything made sense when she laid eyes on its owner.

He was old—at least over seventy, she believed—with short, snow-white hair and, thanks to his receding hairline, a broad forehead that provided plenty of space for the bushy caterpillars that were his brows to grow and thrive. His skin was fairly wrinkle-free. The uneven layers of his neck and the shriveled leather of his hands, however, couldn’t quite hide the years on his belt.

It also appeared he was dealing with a host of medical issues.

The IV rod secured to his motorized wheelchair held two bags of fluids, both flowing into the veins of his right arm. And, most interestingly, there was some sort of patch fastened to the base of his throat—which he evidently needed to press in order to speak.

“You’re as lovely as they claim.”

Bundled as he was in the presumably cashmere sweater, a striped, silk robe, a patterned scarf that resembled a rug she once threw up on, and the soft throw folded over his lap… under different circumstances, she might have thought him just another old man one tended to briefly sympathize with.

But his slimy smirk and leering gaze were more likely to inspire a swift kick to the balls than a comforting pat on the hand.

“I do apologize for the way you were handled,” he continued, as if they were chatting about the weather and not how she was kidnapped for reasons still unknown. With a twitch of his fingers, he smoothly shortened the distance until he reached the side of the bed, close enough to touch her. Brushing a tender spot on her cheek, he whispered, “Such a shame…”

It took everything she had not to flinch—or snap his wrist.

“Why am I here?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her words. “What do you want from me?”

“What I want,” he flashed a wide smile, and she would have bet a kidney that his teeth were fake, “is for you to relax, allow yourself to be pampered. Someone will be in soon to help you get ready for the party.”

“You could have just sent an invitation, you know.”

“Consider it a compliment, Agent Keen.” Turning away, he reached the door in seconds. “You’re here because you’re wanted.”

He had the gall to wink before he left.


	6. Rick

“M-Mr. Reddington, please, d-don’t shoot.”

Raymond didn’t even have the patience for an eye-roll.

“Aram, inside. Now.”

In his haste to not get killed—not that he truly believed Mr. Reddington would… _would he? No__… But better not take chances_—he fumbled with the handle, his fine motor skills not feeling very _fine _at all. Cautiously peeking his head around the partly opened door, it took one look at the three withering glares for him to hurriedly cross the threshold.

“I’m here,” he announced with a nervous smile, feeling rather stupid after the fact. Clearing his throat, he quickly moved on. “So, uh, w-where’s the camera?”

Wordlessly, Raymond tapped a point on the wall, just to the side of the tiny, embedded device.

Carefully toeing around the glass shards, Aram perched on the edge of the bed and pulled out his laptop. “Okay,” he nodded, fingers blurring over the keyboard, “assuming it’s wireless—because everything is wireless nowadays—I’ll find out the location of the server it’s connected to. Hopefully, it’s not a live-feed, though, because if someone is watching right now… that would be very, very bad—not just because they could cut the connection, but they would also know that you’re working with the FBI, and obviously—”

“_Aram._”

“Right,” the tech gulped, “just one… more second… There! I got it.” He resisted the urge to punch the air. “It seems the server is… in this motel.”

Ressler frowned. “They don’t even offer wifi here.”

Without giving an explanation, Red stormed out of the room, his steps purposeful and his stance menacing. It took barely a minute for him to reach the motel’s front desk.

“Are you the manager?” he snapped, just loud enough for the dozing man to jolt upright.

Unconsciously preening his greasy comb-over, he smugly replied, “Rick Holfeld—manager, supervisor, owner… Take your pick.”

A gun was pointed at Rick’s head faster than he could say _cash only_.

“The cameras,” Red got straight to the point, “show me the feed.”

“What are you—a cop?” Rick slit his eyes suspiciously. “I already told your FBI friend that the cameras don’t work here. It’s just a precaution so people don’t try anything.”

“Oh, I’m not a cop, Rick,” he chuckled darkly, “which is why I’ll have absolutely no problem making your head into a bowling ball if you don’t give me what I want.”

“I-I told you! They d-don’t—”

“_The ones in the rooms_.”

“… I don’t know w-what you’re—_fuck!_”

“Now, now, don’t fuss or you’ll make a mess,” it was calmly advised. “It’s just a flesh wound, Rick… But the next bullet goes between your eyes.” The gun lowered fractionally. “Or should I shoot you down there? Make sure you can’t indulge in your voyeuristic hobby, hmm?”

“All right, all right! I’ll show you! Jesus, it’s not like I post them online or—_ah! What the hell, man_? I said I’d—”

“_Shut up_. _Now_. Or you’ll be dead before you can be of any use to me,” he growled, his finger aching with the need to pull the damn trigger. “Don’t even fucking whimper.”

The two agents abruptly barged in—more accurately, Ressler barged in and Aram meekly followed—and neither knew what to make of the scene they were greeted with.

“What the—”

“Help!” Ressler was cut off by the man with crazed eyes and bleeding arms. “This guy’s a fucking psycho! He’s trying to kill me!”

“Donald, meet Rick—our Peeping Tom,” Raymond said lowly, not letting his paling target out of his sight. “He was just about to show us the recordings.”

“What the _fuck_? You’re just going to let him—”

Ressler silenced the man with a glare.

“Aram,” the tech flinched when Reddington suddenly called his name, “now is the time for you to… do whatever you do.”

"Right, yes, I can do that."

A few minutes and a trail of blood later, they got what they needed.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Raymond told his two companions.

Surprisingly, they didn’t object.

“Look, man, I promise I won’t say anything to—”

Rick’s sickening screams pierced the thin walls as he shakily clutched his crotch.

Or… what was left of it.

“I’m not a monster,” Red said, unaffected by the writhing body in front of him leaking a combination of fluids. “I won’t make you live the rest of your miserable, pathetic life without a penis, Rick—regardless of your own dirty hands being the only action it ever got.”

One final shot rang out.

Rick stopped whimpering.

Stepping outside, Raymond was grateful to be met by Dembe's judgment-free stare. “Call Mr. Kaplan,” he said, aware that elaborating wasn't necessary.

“Do I want to know what you did to him?” Ressler asked rhetorically once they were all gathered by the car.

“You won’t be questioned by local police, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You know that’s not—”

“Relax, Donald.” He bared his teeth in a deceiving smile. “Now, let’s save the chit-chat for later, shall we? My handler is in need of rescuing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but, like... This fic is taking a lot longer to complete than I thought it would. Nonetheless, I hope you guys are liking it!


	7. Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot more references to canon in this chapter ;)

“There—stop.”

At the sharp command, Aram immediately paused the video.

In the tense silence of the bullpen, not even a pin dared to drop, lest it incur the wrath of one stressed, worried, _pissed the hell off _Raymond Reddington. Therefore, it went without saying that the members of the task force were also wise enough to step back, keep their mouths shut, and watch as he did what he’d always done best: save Elizabeth.

The screen was currently displaying a horrifying plateau of three burly shadows struggling to overpower the object of his… _everything_.

And he had been right: she had fought.

In the darkness of her room, he’d just been able to make out her form violently thrashing about. Ultimately, her efforts hadn’t been enough, but she hadn’t left the intruders completely unscathed, either. Not only had she punched and kicked, she had used her nails and her teeth to claw and bite. At one point, she had even spit in one of their faces.

_That__’s my girl, _he had almost smiled.

“We’ve seen the video three times now.” Ressler had evidently had enough of waiting. “Replaying the scene over and over isn’t going to get that mask fully off his face.”

In the midst of their aggressively distorted dance, Elizabeth had managed to peel one of the thugs’ masks up—just barely enough to reveal his snarling mouth—but he had immediately tugged it back into place.

However…

“It’s not his face I’m interested in,” Red snapped gruffly.

Cooper took a step forward, hands coming to rest on his hips. “Care to elaborate?”

“Look at his hands.”

A few moments passed as they all tried to catch whatever it was the man had seen. To be fair, it was difficult to see much of anything with the blatant lack of light, but Raymond had had little to no patience to begin with. Just as he felt he was about to explode, Samar said, “His thumbs—”

“Are gone, yes,” he finished for her, nodding almost condescendingly.

“That still doesn’t tell us who he is,” Samar pointed out.

“No,” he conceded, palming his fedora on his head, “but I know someone who can.”

Cooper frowned as Red began to walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll need to meet with an associate.”

“I’m going with you,” Ressler declared, his chest puffed and his stance wide.

Red whirled around, his chuckle at odds with the fire in his eyes. “No, you’re not. This man isn’t another Hector Lorca—desperate and foolish in his desire for freedom,” it was sharply explained. “At this point in time, I need him more than he needs me—which means I meet with him alone. No wires, no clumsy agents in the bushes.”

“There’s no way we’re letting you turn this into a one-man mission,” Captain America argued heatedly. “We’re not just—”

“Agent Ressler,” he growled, silencing the scowling ginger with his glare, if not his voice. “When confronting complex equations, the simplest solution is most often the correct one.” He resumed his approach to the elevator, Dembe at his side. “We lost her. I can find her. It’s that simple.”

As far as Raymond was concerned, it really was.

He would make sure of it.


	8. Personal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this "chapter" is even shorter than usual (seemingly impossible, I know) but there was a natural break! My hands were tied! Hopefully, this means I'll get another update out more quickly, though... And I think you'll see a familiar face in the next one ;)

“Ah, Gregory! It’s been too long, my friend!”

“Don’t be cheeky, Red—you don’t have any friends.”

“And here I thought you would have warmed up to me by now.” With a final pat to the back, Raymond released his associate from the bear-hug and smirked, adding, “We both know your wife has.”

“Yes,” Gregory sniffed, not particularly ecstatic with the fact, “you meet for two minutes, and three years later, she still asks about you.”

“Please, send Sarah my warmest regards, will you?”

The older man snorted, and they both took a seat in the booth. “Get to the point, Reddington. You’re not here to ask about my wife.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, smile dropping, “but I am here to ask about one of your men.”

“Why? Charming my wife was not enough?”

He crossed his legs and leaned back, his stance as casual as his tone. “I’m curious—do you still practice the delicate ceremony of chopping thumbs?”

“There’s no excuse when it comes to incompetence,” Gregory said, lighting a Cuban and frowning when Red uncharacteristically refused his own. “If an idiot wastes my time, my _money_? I take his thumbs so he can no longer twiddle them all day.”

“And how many of these thumbless idiots are still alive and under your employ?”

“One—and that’s only because he’s married to my baby sister.” The mob boss narrowed his eyes. “Why? What did that fucker do now?”

Well, that was going to make things complicated.

He needed to tread carefully here…

“It seems your brother-in-law was involved in a recent kidnapping,” he said, his calm facade unable to hide the danger ebbing from him in waves. “I need to find the person that was taken.”

Gregory eyed him carefully, puffing his cigar for a wordless moment. “This is personal for you.”

“It is,” he admitted, aware that denial would be pointless.

“As I said,” the man exhaled tiredly, “this is my sister’s husband—the father of her children.”

“And a woman I care about is now missing,” he said, not missing a beat. “I intend to get her back.”

They stared each other down for several minutes, the air in the room cold and tense and silent—enough so that the guards began to wonder if they would have to use their guns. But just as their fingers were at risk of twitching, their boss spoke.

“Just don’t kill him.”

“Done.”


	9. Thumbless Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe

A quick trace of his phone allowed them to tail Thumbless Steve as he went straight from his home to another nondescript residential complex. Maintaining a relative distance while still keeping him in their line of sight, they followed with a sort of ease that could only come from years of experience, utterly silent even as they ascended the creaky stairs—not that much stealth was required, really, considering the man appeared about as dense as a stone.

From around the corner, they watched as he let himself into one of the apartments. _Interesting__… A mistress, perhaps?_ They waited a few minutes before making their approach, standing on either side of the door and listening with strained ears for a hint of what was going on. All they could hear, however, were soft murmurs.

Communicating with just their eyes, Dembe knocked down the door with one swift kick. Red followed closely behind, both their guns raised… only to witness a most unexpected scene.

There, sitting on the couch with his pants around his ankles, was Thumbless Steve.

And the woman straddling his lap was none other than Madeline Pratt.

The surprise couple painted a funny picture—that was undeniable: Steve fumbling to get up and tripping over his own feet, and Madeline attempting to play it cool despite the fact that Raymond could practically see the blood draining from her face.

“Maddie,” Red exclaimed jovially, using his gun to jerkily point at the leather strap in her hands, “and I was so sure the thing with the belt was _our_ thing.”

She curled her lips in what others might have viewed as a seductive grin. “Well, if I’m going to have an affair, I thought I might as well find a man with hair.”

“Ah, yes, lack of thumbs aside, I must admit he does have quite a teeming mane.”

The man in question was finally able to button his pants. “Who the hell are you?”

“Pardon my manners, Stevie,” he frowned apologetically, “I’m Raymond Reddington.”

“Raymond—”

“Reddington, yes,” he interrupted with a deep chuckle, “now, will you excuse me for a moment? I have a rather pressing call to make, you understand.” Dembe, with his free hand, passed Red the phone. With an exaggerated squint, he dialed a number and brought the device to his ear, smiling at the occupants of the room while he waited for the line to connect. “Greetings, Gregory!” He very much enjoyed the green tint to Steve’s complexion. “Yes, yes, well, I was just wondering if your stated condition was, well, conditional…” He hummed. “You see, I just caught your dear brother-in-law in a most compromising position—and with a woman who is not your sister, no less… What was that? Can you speak up a bit?… Ah, right. I understand. Thank you, Gregory, and I do apologize for the unfortunate turn of events. Yes… Well, a chaste peck on Sarah’s cheek for me, pl—” He stared at the phone before shrugging and flipping it shut. “He hung up.”

“W-What did he say?”

“I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with repeating his words verbatim, Stevie. After all, we do have a lady in our presence.”

The sweating man wrung the back of his neck, then shook his head as if coming to an internal conclusion. “No, no, we’re family. Greg wouldn’t kill me.”

At that, Red simply said, “He doesn’t have to.”

Three shots rang out in quick succession.

“Now,” he turned to face Madeline, his expression pleasant even as he observed the blood spatter wet her hair, her cheeks… “What am I going to do with you, Maddie?”


	10. Fate

“Yes, what are you going to do to me, Raymond?”

Madeline’s heavy lashes fluttered coquettishly as she stared at him with slitted eyes. Raising a hand, her long, manicured nails tapped his chest, preparing to slither down his front like the snake he knew she was. Just as she got to the first button of his vest, he gripped her wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to stop its descent.

“Sit down, Madeline.”

Undeterred, she smirked, “It can be just like old times… I haven’t forgotten what—”

Having had enough of her antics, he cocked his gun against her forehead, effectively shutting her up. “Sit your ass down.”

Ignoring her withering glare, he waited until she took a seat at the end of the couch, creating as much distance as she could from Steve’s crumpled body. She stiffly crossed both her arms and her legs, her posture displaying her guardedness just as much as her eyes did. The cogs spinning inside her head could be heard loud and clear as she tried to plan her escape.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she shouldn’t bother.

“Where’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he warned gruffly, denying her the pleasure of a game. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Fine, then—two years ago, what happened in Florence? What happened to you?”

“Mad—”

“You left me alone,” she hissed. “I deserve an explanation.”

He sighed, unable—or, more accurately, unwilling—to give her what she wanted.

“Was it because of the girl?” she continued, insistent. “She’s a little young for you.”

“You think?”

“Why her? How did you pick her?”

Chewing on a barrage of potential answers, he simply went with, “Fate.”

“What happened in Florence?” she asked again.

They were going in circles.

“I have very little time and even less patience,” he said, bringing his gun back up to remind her of just who was in charge here. “Trust me when I say it is in your best interest to tell me what I need to know. Now. Do not test me, Maddie.”

“Trust you?” she scoffed, flushing despite herself. “After everything that has happened, why in the world would I—”

He took a menacing step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Because as bad as you may think I am, as far as you think I am willing to go to protect that which I hold most dear, you can’t possibly fathom how deep that well of mine truly goes.”

A mix of emotions danced across her face until she finally settled on disbelief. “You’re in love with her.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t reply.

But the twitch of his cheek was answer enough.

“I won’t ask again, Madeline.”

“… The Kings,” she whispered as she closed her eyes, tears trickling down to blend with the blood drying on her skin.

She didn’t see the bullet coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bye, bitch


	11. Pigs Eat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but ended up being the second-last instead. *rolls eyes at myself*

They needed to stop meeting like this.

She was in another red dress tonight, though it was more… _more _than the one she had worn last. The first thing she had noticed was that it was deeper in pigment—like the innermost crevice of a rose in full bloom… _or like freshly spilled blood_. And she couldn’t decide whether the gown was tastefully tantalizing or outright scandalous. While the sleeves were of full length and her back was completely covered, the V at the front practically dipped to her navel, exposing the valley of her breasts with very little modesty, and the way the sleek velvet clung to her curves certainly didn’t ease her emotional discomfort.

He, on the other hand, appeared to be in his element—_when was he not? _Whether in caves or prisons or hole-in-the-wall noodle shops, he was always perfectly comfortable. Why would an illegal—not to mention, disturbingly immoral—auction be any different? Wearing the hell out of a tailored tux, he was currently owning the room and charming the people, soaking up the attention like a sponge does spoiled milk—disgusted, yet duty-bound.

She was careful to keep him only in her peripheral, using her ears more than her eyes to observe and keep track of him, following his boisterous laughter and wildly dramatized tales as he made his rounds as the infamous Concierge of Crime. It was why she first heard rather than saw when he finally made his approach.

His expression appeared pleasantly neutral, but she didn’t miss the glint of concern in his eyes as he scanned her from head to toe, no doubt searching for evidence of any injuries she may have sustained. Fortunately for the both of them, someone—a lady who had seemed nice enough, all things considered—had done her makeup shortly before she had been forced on display, flawlessly hiding the bruises that had formed along her jaw and temple. She also found she was suddenly quite thankful for the long-sleeved dress she had practically been manhandled into. It covered almost the entire length of her body, including the discoloration on her arms, legs, and ribs that was probably darkening by the minute—but, of course, _excluding _the dip at her front that, at the moment… his intent gaze was firmly fixed on.

Just before he could say something equally witty and annoying, he was interrupted by a younger man who somehow sounded even snobbier than he looked. “Raymond Reddington in the flesh.”

“You must be Tyler,” he said, acknowledging the man with a bland smile. “I presume your father is still alive and kicking?”

“Why presume, when you can see for yourself?”

Elizabeth instinctively frowned.

_That fucking voice_.

“Good heavens, Earl! You’ve never had any feeling in your heart, but now it looks like there isn’t much going on below the waist,” he said, scrutinizing the wheelchair with dramatized pity.

“I do all right. The wheelchair is just a little memento of our time together in Bolivia.”

“No hard feelings, I trust.”

“Just a few,” Earl smiled without humor. “But this is only business, Red. Besides, you warned me. _Pigs eat_—”

“_Hogs get slaughtered_,” he cut in, punctuating the phrase with a lively laugh. “All you had to do was listen. But that’s always been your problem—all that money clogging your ears. I told you to come with me that night out on the Altiplano.”

“I had millions invested. I couldn’t just walk away like you.”

“Poor choice of words, given what those soldiers did to you,” he said, quirking a brow. With a chuckle, he continued, “I’d hate to see you play the hog yet again, Earl.”

“No, no, Red,” Earl promptly assured “You taught me an invaluable lesson. Dispassion is the businessman’s best friend. One mustn’t get emotionally involved in business… which makes me wonder if perhaps you failed to learn your own teachings.”

Raymond smirked and tilted his head, silently suggesting—_daring_—he elaborate.

“You’re here, Red,” was all Earl said, as if that was explanation enough.

Maybe it was.

“Yes, as I recall,” Tyler was quick to jump in, “you’re one of the few prospects who rejected invitations to our past auctions. So,” he paused, narrowing his beady eyes, “to what do we owe your presence here tonight?”

Pasting on a pleasant expression, Red replied, “Why, Agent Keen, of course.”

Even upon hearing her name, she was still startled to gain the abrupt attention of all three men.

“Ah, yes, the young FBI agent.” Earl nodded in acknowledgment. “She was a surprise acquisition, I must admit, but already in such high demand… What kind of a commodity is she, do you think? A wealth of secrets and information? Or an impulse purchase for a buyer to settle a score? Being the talented profiler that she is, I hear she has made quite a few enemies.” He moved forward until she could practically _feel_ his disgusting leer. Stroking her cheek, he lightly dragged his knuckles across her jaw, down her neck, and stopped just below her clavicle. “I can certainly think of worse purchases a man could make.”

Liz didn’t need to look at Raymond to know that he was seething.

She could only hope he had that twitch under control.

“I’m curious,” Red pouted and tapped his own throat, “do you ever run out of breath using that thing?”

“You’re in for some competition tonight, Reddington,” Earl said, undeterred. “You’re not the only pig here that wants to sink his teeth into Ms. Keen.”


	12. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, there are snippets from about 6 different episodes in here! Hopefully, you find that they were put to good use!

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, one of the most exciting items of the night; she possesses a wealth of classified information and is the target of several killers and crime lords. I present to you, Special Agent Elizabeth Keen of the FBI!” The auctioneer had no problem speaking over the loud murmurings of the crowd. “I will commence the bidding at $2 million. Able to bid now two. Who will give me two? I’ve got two right here. Who will give me 2.5? Able to bid now 2.5.” 

Within about three seconds, her retail value had risen to eight million.

Raymond hadn’t seemed bothered by his competition—hadn’t even looked at them. But one particular voice had his head turning so abruptly, Elizabeth was surprised it didn’t snap right off.

***

“Anslo, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me you came all this way just to see me. There’s something called Facebook, you know—lets you make video calls.” Red shrugged, masking his unease behind a bland smile. “I must say, you’ve come up in the world, depending on how you look at it. How did you manage to wrangle an invitation? Who’s backing you?” Keeping his gaze fixed on Anslo, he raised a hand and loudly bid, “Ten.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Red. I’m here for a pretty FBI agent,” Anslo said, smirking crookedly.

“You know, Anslo, I’m looking at you, and I got to say I’m really surprised. With the access you now have to top-notch plastic surgeons, why you haven’t done something—_anything_—about that horrific scar. I mean, how do you wake up to that staring back at you in the mirror every morning?” He frowned pityingly. “But you know what? It’s not the scar… It’s really the eye.”

“I heard you made yourself some sweet little immunity deal, Red. I heard that you fitted the FBI with strings, and now they hang upon your hip like a hatchet. Not bad. Prudent… _Twelve_.” Taking a step forward, he lowered his voice and snarled. “You know, I spent five years in blackness… Five years thinking about the pain I was going to inflict on you while slowly breaking your will, your body, and finally your mind. That day is here, my friend—only, it’ll be through the girl you hold so dear… But don’t worry, from what I hear, she’ll make her way back to you eventually… Just not all at once.” He began to retreat. “Fourteen!”

***

Elizabeth couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could no longer hear the ongoing bidding war, either. Her body grew tense as she watched the interaction between the two men, their familiarity with each other giving the impression of a rather complicated history—one that, unfortunately, seemed to be dripping with bad blood.

The hostile man walked away and smugly approached the Kings, telling them something that immediately brought upon horrified reactions—all while continuing to bid. At that moment, she couldn’t tell if her heart was in her gut or her ears, but she intuitively knew that Raymond needed to get out of there. Now.

Clearly, he was of the same mind.

She could practically see the cogs spinning furiously behind those intense eyes, a mix of emotions on his face as he acknowledged her panicked glare and her silent pleas for him to _go_. Swiftly, and with all the ease she was not feeling, he successfully waded through the ignorant throng of people. It was only when he was no longer visible that she was able to let out a relieved breath.

Though, it caught in her throat once she realized who had just bought her.

***

“Good God! Crumbs up!”

“What?”

“Your cummerbund! Pleats up! You look like Bob Yoshimura in 8th grade swing choir. It’s upside down!”

At the enthusiastic pestering, the flustered guard looked down—only to be knocked out with a swift punch to his face. Stepping past the still—yet breathing—body, Raymond went right up to the glass box that Elizabeth was currently encased in.

“How do you open this thing?” He tried every combination he could immediately think of, but none of them worked. Trying to keep his fingers from fumbling, he hissed, “Damn it! What’s the code?”

“Red, you need to go.”

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Listen to me,” she implored, trying to get him to meet her eyes. “I know you wouldn’t have entered this building without first looking at its blueprints. You know the way out.” Glancing at the terrified Peretti boy, she added, “Take the boy and go.”

Pausing his efforts, he finally looked at her, his expression too cluttered to be readable.

“You could be killed,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice just barely audible, both instinctively leaning closer until his nose and her forehead were pressed against the glass.

They didn’t dare breathe lest they break the tense silence, the thick air filled with a cacophony of emotions that neither could decipher no matter how hard they stared into the other’s eyes.

A series of shouts could be heard, the sounds getting louder and louder.

“Red, you did everything you could. It’s time to go,” she said, steeling her tone. “Go!”

“Elizabeth, I will come for you.”

It was a promise she both hoped and feared he would try to keep.

***

“I’ve got the girl.”

Elizabeth glared at the scarred man, wriggling her wrists even as the plastic ties began to cut flesh.

“How do you want me to proceed?… Right now?… All right.”

Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled out a pocket knife and walked around her. With the certainty that he was about to slit her throat from behind, she closed her eyes and thought of the one person she wanted on her mind and in her heart during her final, shallow breaths.

_Red._

Her eyes snapped back open when he took hold of not her throat, but her hand.

“Sit tight, Agent Keen, or I might take more than I’m supposed to.” the man muttered as he tightened his grip, attempting to flatten her clenched fist. “This will only take a moment.”

Just as the cold steel grazed the base knuckle of her pinkie, a shot rang out, instantly followed by a loud clatter and a heavy thud. Desperate to make sense of the situation, she craned her neck as far as she could and saw _him _standing in the doorway, gun still raised and jaw still ticking.

She wanted to cry.

“_Red_.”

Her exclamation hadn’t been particularly loud, but it’d been enough to draw him out of his murderous haze and kick him back into motion. Just before he could reach her, however, she stopped him with an almost startled shake of her head.

“His phone,” she whispered.

Taking notice of the device in question, both ignored the creak of his knees as he bent to pick it up.

***

“What’s happened? Answer me!”

“Sorry, Anslo can’t get to the phone right now. May I please take a message?”

The voice in his ear fell silent, quickly assessing the turn of events. Then, finally, “_Reddington_.”

“I’m loathe to admit it, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage here,” Raymond said, his almost jovial tone a complete one-eighty from what he was truly feeling. “You know who I am, but I have no earthly idea who you are. And, unfortunately, you being Russian only gives me more questions than answers.”

“I’m a man who wants revenge.”

“Revenge?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “What exactly have I done to deserve your scorn? Please, do enlighten me.”

“You know, I almost gave up looking for you. You were like a ghost for twelve years,” the man deflected. “Heard rumors, and I followed them from Barcelona to Melbourne to Stockholm, but always nothing—until one day, I made a connection: Elizabeth Keen. That’s why we’re having this conversation here today. Because of Keen.” His smirk was audible. “I know how much you care for her, how… _blinded _by passion you are.”

“You don’t know nearly as much as you think.”

“As you can see, Reddington, I can find her. I can hurt her. I can make her suffer. And I’ll send her to you in pieces just like you did my daughter.”

Well, that was unexpected.

“It seems we have a common enemy,” he said, low and dangerous, trying to keep the lid on his boiling rage.

“Who?”

“Whoever told you that I killed your daughter.”

He hung up before the man could respond.

Pocketing the phone and rushing to Elizabeth’s side, he used Anslo’s knife to cut her restraints. Within seconds, she was free and he was crouched in front of her, the position eerily reminiscent to another time he’d almost been too late.

“Lizzie.” Gently brushing his thumbs over her battered wrists, he brought one of her hands to his cheek, shamelessly pressing into it. “You’re safe, you’re safe.”

Neither were sure whom he was trying to reassure.

“You came back,” she said, voice cracking and tears falling. “I told you to go, and you… you came back.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” 

“Don’t.” She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. “You can never do that again.”

“Do what? Save your life?”

“Putting my life before yours. Choosing me over you.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He shrugged. “Both.”

“Why?” She was close to screaming—if only the thick clot in her throat would let her. “Why—”

“Lizzie, surely you must know by now…” He sighed softly, tilting his head in the way it tended to tilt around her, smiling adoringly in the way he tended to smile around her, the usual hint of reverence now very obvious in his open gaze, in his quiet words that formed his booming declaration of, “It will always be you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kudos and comments! They meant a lot!


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